Dancing with two left feet
by Rita C
Summary: Jon and Sansa are living amongst the wildlings, pretending to be a couple. When Ygritte returns, they are forced to aknowledge some things. OR Tormund talks some sense into Sansa regarding Jon.


Notes:

I had a weird conversation last night, followed by an even weirder dream. Somehow, this came up.  
In my head, Ned is still alive here and he sent his kids away to keep them safe from the Targaryen coming in from the south. Jon takes Sansa north of the Wall, where they are pretending to be a couple.

**Dancing with two left feet**

"Mind if I steal your man for a dance?"

Sansa looks up to see that even though Ygritte is clearly talking to her, her eyes are riveted on Jon, a slight smirk pulling on her lips as though she's daring him to refuse. Daring her to say no.

Oh she wants to say no alright. Right now, Sansa has half a mind to forget all propriety, throw manners to the wind and just tell the other woman to go fuck herself and keep her hands away from Jon. She doesn't, though. Instead, she looks to the side to see Jon staring at Ygritte, a confused look on his face.

The coldness that begins to slowly sweep across her chest is nothing new, not since the woman had sauntered back into the village about a moon ago, all gleaming confidence and bold words, and clearly intent on picking things back up with Jon. In his defense, he hasn't done anything wrong. He has kept his distance – apart from that very first day, when he had gone to her to talk things out, as he had put it, and set everything straight – and his attentions towards Sansa haven't diminished; in fact, it seems as though he's even more attuned to her now, as though he's trying to shield her from Ygritte's bold moves.

Tormund had taken her for a walk the day Ygritte had arrived, when Jon had gone to speak to her, and he had told her about their shared history. She likes the big man. She especially likes the fact that he doesn't try to coddle her and he tells it like it is – even if his colorful language is sometimes enough to make Sansa blush profusely.

She understands what they once had. She understands Ygritte wants it back. She's not sure what Jon wants though, and she doesn't know if that's because he doesn't know it himself or if she's just refusing to see it.

Maybe that's what makes up her mind in the end. She doesn't know how long it will take until something snaps and frankly, she really doesn't know how much longer she can take this. She keeps her eyes trained on Jon as she answers as politely as though she was still in the Great Hall of Winterfell. "Not at all."

Jon's head snaps, and suddenly his eyes are boring into hers. She tries to keep her breath steady as their gazes lock, and there's an obvious question in his stormy grey eyes. One she deliberately chooses not to answer as she addresses him now. "You should dance with your friend."

Ygritte snorts at that and Jon spares her a glance before looking back at Sansa. He seems confused and maybe even a little hurt, but as Ygritte grabs his hand and begins to pull him up towards the other dancing couples he doesn't hesitate to follow her and Sansa tries not to think too much about what that means.

Her drink is long since finished and suddenly the air around the several camp fires seems suffocating. She gets up, nodding towards Myleene as she spots the older woman looking at her with a concerned frown, but her steps don't falter as she makes her way around the throngs of people.

The pebbles that litter the small beach at the edge of the village are small and slippery, and she's careful as she makes her way towards the water. She can still hear the music floating through the chilly night air and if she turns her body at just the right angle she can make out the dancers swaying around the fire. She turns her body towards the water, watching as the crashing waves create tiny pockets of mist that seem to glitter under the full moon.

The footsteps behind her don't startle her as they once would have. She's been living amongst the wildlings for close to six moons now, she knows she's safe here; she also knows she's more than capable to protect herself if need be.

"Why are you hiding out here for?"

She huffs in annoyance but she's careful to keep her back to him, so she doesn't have to pretend any more than she has to that that was exactly what she was doing. The pebbles give way under his heavy weight as he makes his way towards her and she tries to school her features into that perfect mask of indifference she had mastered as a lady so long ago. It's getting harder though, after so many moons of not having to pretend to be anything more than she is.

Tormund comes to a stop next to her and lifts up a skin filled to the brim with that disgusting fermented goat's milk he seems to drink like water, offering it to her. She risks a glance to him and he smirks. "Figured you could use a drink." She hesitates only for a moment before taking a small swig. She's tried the thing before and knows exactly how strong it is, and how big of a headache it will give her come morning, if she indulges in more than a sip. Still, the warmth that courses through her veins is a welcome relief after the iciness that had coated her heart only moments ago.

Tormund takes the skin back from her and takes a healthy swig before letting out a loud belch. They have become increasingly more comfortable with each other, and when before she would have balked at his manners (or lack thereof) and he would have tried to reign himself in, now they both just share a small laugh before silence envelops them once again.

It doesn't last. It never does with Tormund; the man always seems to have an opinion about everything, and he's never shy about giving it, whether anyone else wants to hear it or not. Sansa suspects this is one of those times when she would rather, very pointedly, not.

"You should be back there, dancing with him." He doesn't look at her, keeping his gaze floating above the vast darkness of the water in front of them. Sansa's grateful for that. Maybe it will make answering him easier.

"He has a dancing partner. I daresay he'd be quite happy even if he didn't, since dancing isn't exactly one of his favorite things." She tries to smile, but when Tormund shifts his eyes to look at her, she's fairly certain it's more of a grimace than anything else. "He doesn't need me."

She hears him sigh heavily and braces herself for whatever's about to come out of his mouth. "Aye, you really are the stupidest smart person I've ever met."

"Excuse me?" She turns fully to glare at him, her eyes narrowed dangerously. He turns to her as well, with the most serious look she's ever seen on his face, and for a moment they're both caught in a staring match.

He doesn't break it even when he nods his head towards the people still drunkenly dancing behind them. "Did you even look at them before you fled out here?"

She risks a glance at the clearing and sees Jon twirling Ygritte away before she moves back into his arms. It isn't graceful or even pretty, she thinks spitefully, but they both seem to be enjoying themselves, and she feels that icy grip on her heart return in full force. "I looked."

"Aye," he says, and Sansa looks at him to see his gaze has softened somewhat. "But did you see?"

There's an echo of a laugh making its way across the space that separates her from what her heart wants the most. She doesn't know who it belongs to but it makes her body stiffen and her shoulders haunch back. "I saw enough."

"Did you?" Tormund moves swiftly for such a big man, grabbing her hand and pulling her along behind him. Her feet stumble upon some the moss covered rocks but his grip on her arm keeps her from falling as he nearly drags her to the top of the beach. He lets go only for a moment before he wraps an arm around her, forcing her to look ahead towards the gathered couples.

"Let me tell you what I see." He keeps his voice low and she's thankful for that. The distance between them and the rest of the village hasn't decreased that much and she doesn't want anyone overhearing any of this. Seven hells, she's not sure she wants to hear it either.

"I see Ygritte trying to push herself against him. I see her talking more than I've ever heard talking, trying to keep his attention on her."

"I'm sure she doesn't have to try very hard."

"That's cause you're not seeing it." She sighs and fixes her gaze on them. "I see him keeping her at arm's length every time she tries to press against him. She moves in, he pushes out. Who knew the little crow could dance like that?" Tormund's chuckle is lost on her as she narrows her eyes at what's in front of her. It's true, Jon seems to be doing everything he can to keep Ygritte as far away as possible while still dancing together. Still…

Tormund's voice snaps her out of her thoughts as he draws on. "I see his eyes flitting about, trying to find what he really wants." He loosens his hold on her, but doesn't let go completely. "You wanna know what I see when he dances with you?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me." She tries to shrug it off but she can't. Truth is, she's curious to see what he sees when he looks at them.

"I see no one pulling on his hand cause he goes willingly. I see not a hairsbreadth of space between you two because of how close he pulls you in." She shivers as she recalls the feeling of his strong body pressed tightly against hers, sinfully delicious memories of holding on to his arms and neck as he spins her around the great bonfire, his eyes bright with laughter as he holds her far closer than propriety dictates. "And I know that we could have a raiding party sweeping down on the village and he wouldn't even notice, the way his attention is all on you."

He lets go of her completely then and passes her back the wineskin. She takes it and pulls a longer, healthier swig before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She notices her fingers shaking and takes a long breath to collect herself. "He's just keeping up with the pretense."

Tormund laughs, the sound loud and heavy in the still night air, and Sansa turns to him. He's shaking his head as though he finds this incredibly frustrating. She has a feeling that perhaps he does. "What for? Everyone here knows who you are. There's no need to keep up with any of it." His blue eyes lock with hers and all mirth seems to have left him. "And yet you both do."

She turns back towards the dwindling crowd, her eyes easily finding Jon. There's a flare of hope steadily blossoming inside her chest, one that she struggles to contain whenever she finds grey eyes looking at her with an intensity that makes something inside her twist and unfurl. One that she tries to smother now. She lowers her eyes to the ground, choosing to stare at the point where the pebbles give way to the muddy grounds, and knows that her voice is barely a whisper. "What if you're wrong?"

She feels him shift besides her before a massive arm comes across her shoulders and squeezes gently. "When have I ever been wrong?" She lets out a shaky laugh and Tormund chuckles, before lowering his voice even further, so low she strains to hear it. "But what if I'm right?"

She doesn't have an answer to that so Sansa turns to him, trying to gauge his expression. His eyes have softened and he's smiling gently at her before his gaze flickers to the side, over the muddy pathways to the clearing and he lets out a snort. "Well, well. Looks like the little crow found what he was looking for."

Sansa follows his gaze and her eyes lock instantly with Jon's. He's barely moving now, and Ygritte's attempts at pulling him back in are growing less and less sure until she stops completely. Sansa notices her gaze flicker back towards her before she settles her eyes back on Jon. She says something – Sansa is too far away to hear it – and Jon wavers, his shoulders hunching as he answers her. Whatever words have passed between them, Ygritte steps back before leaving the crowd of dancers.

Jon looks back at her then and her breath itches in her throat. His eyes are stormy as they feast upon her and Sansa suddenly feels as though she's drowning, her heart hammering away against her chest as her insides twist from the heat of his stare.

Tormund nudges her shoulder lightly and she takes a tiny step forward, his arm shooting out quickly to pull the wineskin from her hand with a playful wink. "Reckon you don't need this to keep warm tonight."

Her steps grow more confident as a smirk pulls at her lips. "No, I don't think I do."

Her boots crunch against the melting snow as she makes her way to the clearing. Jon's eyes are boring into hers, like a line slowly but surely reeling her in. She stops when there's barely two steps between them and he lifts up his hand without a hint of hesitation, a coy smile playing at his lips. "Dance with me?"

She smiles, a nervous sort of smile that does nothing to calm the fluttering of her heart, and places her hand in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze before he pulls her in against his chest, his other hand resting on the small of her back and suddenly they're pressed so close to each other she can feel his heart beating in time with her own. She lets her free hand trace across the furs on his chest to tangle in the curls at the back of his neck and she feels his sigh ghosting across her face.

Out to the side, Tormund makes his way towards the bonfire. He sits amongst some of the men before catching her eye and lifting his wineskin in salute. Sansa smiles and then Jon is twirling her to the music and she looks back to catch his warm eyes. And keeps them there.


End file.
